When Angels Fall

“Mel, are you sure you don’t want a lift home?” Rosie frowned, concern lighting her pixie-like, pierced features.

Rosie was Melody’s polar opposite—petite,
naturally
blonde, small-featured, sweet, and a complete style adventurer. She was the kindest and biggest-hearted person she knew. Melody might have crap taste in men, but she had great taste in friends.

“Rosie, I’ll be fine. It’s five minutes away. I do it almost every night.” She looked at the very full car. “Besides, there isn’t anyone from Guinness World Records to see our attempt at ‘how many people you can fit into a Mini.’” Melody couldn’t help but smile at her heavily tattooed best friend.

“Okay, Mel, but ring me when you get in.”

“Yes, Mum,” Melody said, raising her hand to her head in a salute.

“Your mum lives on the other side of the world; someone’s got to take care of you!”

“And you do it so well, Rosie. Who’d have thought that a pink-haired rock goddess like yourself would make such a good surrogate mum?” Melody and Rosie poked their tongues out at the same time.

“I am very maternal.” Rosie winked. “I’ll see you tomorrow for lunch, I mean today, argh. I hate these stupid o’clock finishes.” Rosie had to yell as the noise from the car’s four other occupants started to increase with their discomfort.

Melody waved as she watched the car head around the corner before inhaling the cool early morning air gratefully. She checked her mobile phone, 2:43 a.m. She’d been stifling at work tonight. After the dingy, close quarters of the basement bar where she worked, the fresh air and walk would do her good. The Pit was such an appropriate name, she mused. Melody loved her job and was damn good at it, not to mention the added bonus of working with Rosie.
It’s just a pity the bar is such a shithole.

Melody carried on toward the Grassmarket, noticing a few stragglers attempting to make their own way home from the many pubs and clubs that adorned the center of Edinburgh. The city had been crazy busy with the multitude of festivals that coincided to make Edinburgh the capital of culture and fun every summer. This year was no exception, but now it was the beginning of September, and things were mostly settling down...until Hogmanay, anyway.

A noise behind Melody startled her and she spun around looking for the culprit, her body tense as adrenaline coursed through her veins.

Freakin’ cat!
A half-full beer bottle, dislodged by the prowling creature, clattered down the footpath, spilling some of its contents. She released the breath she’d been holding and picked up the pace as she headed toward Fountainbridge.

The street suddenly plunged into darkness as she approached West Port. She looked at the construction site to her left, only to find that it was devoid of light as well.
Bugger! They must have knocked them out
. The next working streetlight was less than one hundred meters along the road, but the gap between her and that bright beacon appeared immense right now. It reminded her of a black hole—no light seemed to penetrate it. For the briefest moment, she wondered if she would end up on the other side of the universe if she stepped into it.
Stupid sci-fi TV shows.
She smiled despite her trepidation; she found humor was a good coping mechanism for nerves.

Right, harden up. Stop being a wuss and run!
The mental reprimand made her focus on the job at hand. Melody adjusted her handbag strap so it sat securely across her body, with the bulk of the bag at her back. She scanned her surroundings as she moved to the center of the road—oddly, it made her feel safer. When she reached the center line she took a deep fortifying breath before huffing it out in a gust just as she started to run.

As soon as she entered the darkness, it felt oppressive, as if something was weighing her down. She always ran looking at the ground, but she could barely make out the white of her sneakers. About halfway through her sprint she lifted her head and glanced to the left and then the right. She couldn’t distinguish anything in the darkness. As she turned to face straight ahead again, her lungs and limbs burning from the exertion, she managed to register a hulking shadow blocking some of the light she’d been aiming for
. Thud
—she hit what felt like a brick wall.

Her arms flailed and she lost her footing as her descent began. The whole thing seemed to happen in slow motion and she was powerless to stop. It wasn’t slow motion, though; it was real time, and it really fucking hurt. The crunching sound that issued from her bag as she landed on it caused her to release a loud exasperated, “Fuck!” The only thing in her bag capable of that noise was her phone.

Dazed, her head swimming, she had a vague idea some idiot had parked a van in the middle of the road and she’d just run into the back of it. She blinked a few times to disperse the stars that clouded her already restricted vision. While trying to regain her feet, she felt a very large hand grab her arm aggressively, then drag her back into something—a body perhaps, though an unnaturally hard one. She started to scream and another hand, calloused and rough, clasped her mouth and jaw.

“You smell delicious,” a gravelly voice rasped in her ear, the whisky-soaked breath and hand making her nauseous.

God, please help me, someone!
Her eyes widened in terror as a strange thought entered her brain.
Go limp; a dead weight will be too difficult to hold.
She knew she was clutching straws, she was fairly certain the idea came from either an old cop show or an alarmist email, but she grabbed hold of it as the only life raft in her reach. Although her body was pumping with adrenaline, she willed herself to relax. She knew whoever was holding her was big; very big. At five foot eight, Melody had grown up swimming and playing rugby with her male cousins in New Zealand. She knew she was no lightweight. The man holding her towered above her and was obviously strong, but she prayed the alcohol he’d drunk would give her the advantage.

Melody’s attempted relaxation halted when she heard another male voice. She clung desperately to the small hope that fluttered in her chest as she listened hard for a sign this was a capable friend and not another foe.

“Good evening, Marco. Nice night for hunting.” The voice was calm, almost soothing, and appeared to be coming closer with each word.

“Is that you, Alastair? I thought you were dead.” The voice of Melody’s captor, Marco, sounded almost amused.

She couldn’t see a thing, and wondered how they could. Night vision goggles? Although, she didn’t remember feeling them when Marco’s face was close to hers.

Alastair spoke again. “That’s how I like it. But when someone comes hunting on my turf, well ,you know me, I can’t stand by and watch.” The voice in the pitch black, though still composed, held an undercurrent of menace.

Oh God, he’s come to help him. I’m going to die, but those bastards better be prepared for a fight.
Melody’s inner voice strengthened with her resolve. She was determined to help the police catch her murderers. She would bite, scratch, kick, and do whatever it took to get their DNA and cause some damage to the scum in the process.

Melody felt something wet and hard scrape across her neck just below her ear. The pain reminded her of grazing a knee on jagged gravel as a child, and she bit her lip to stop herself from gasping aloud from the pain.

“She smelled too good, Alastair; I thought she’d be worth the risk. I was right, ‘cause she tastes good too. Want a piece? I know most don’t share my tastes—”

“I’ll try anything once.” The other voice was very near to them now as he cut Marco off.

Before Melody had a chance to think, softer hands took hold of her, pulling her away from her captor. Marco did not let go easily.

“Don’t fuck with me, Marco.” Alastair’s tone was pure danger.

Melody felt a frisson of energy course through her, beginning where Alastair held her arm. It wasn’t unpleasant, but it
was
strange. As the pulse left her body, Marco released his grip abruptly as he growled.

The body that held her close now was muscular but in a softer, more natural way. The hand fixed firmly over her mouth didn’t stink of stale alcohol; he actually smelled kind of good. It was a familiar scent, permanently embedded in her mind, because she’d bought the same cologne for her ex before throwing the full bottle at his head when she left him. She was glad she had missed. The prick didn’t deserve to smell that good, and neither did the bastard who was about to kill her.

Alastair was moving backwards almost imperceptibly, as though trying to increase the distance between them and Marco.

Melody struggled to no avail. He was easily as big as Marco, though his hands were smooth, and his grip was firm, but not painfully tight. She tried in vain to pull away as she felt his head dip toward her stinging neck, a prickly stubble grazing her ear. She tensed and held her breath, preparing for more pain, but instead she felt soft lips at her ear and heard a faint whisper.

“No one’s going to hurt you. Be ready to run.” Without touching her neck, he raised his head again. “Not my cup of tea, but then we’ve never shared the same...proclivities.”

Melody began to think frantically.
Is he messing with me, and making this a real hunt? Does it even fucking matter? When he loosens his grip just be ready to run for your life, Melody!
The words may have been in
her
head, but they sounded like her mum. The unmistakable prickle of tears threatened at the thought of her parents, yet she blinked them away rapidly knowing she needed her wits about her.

“Well, seeing as I caught her, I should get the first bite, don’t you think? Hand her back!” Marco sounded more than a little annoyed.

Melody heard his voice draw nearer as he spoke. Within a second, Alastair appeared to be mirroring the movement and Melody found herself frantically backpedalling to keep up with her current captor and stop her heels from dragging against the road.

“Remember, you’re in my territory, Marco. You need to learn some manners.” No fear clouded his voice, just disdain.

A feral growl ripped out of Marco’s throat. At the same time, Melody heard Alastair whisper, “Run” in her ear as he turned and released her in the direction of the streetlight she’d been aiming for a century ago, when this whole mess started.

Melody, fueled with adrenaline, ran as hard as she could down West Port and the hope of humanity and safety on the busier main streets. Just as she reached the warm, strengthening glow of the first streetlight and left the oppressive darkness behind her she heard an aggressive snarl and a crackle in the near distance. Instead of turning around, she spurred herself on harder as she swerved onto East Fountainbridge. It was another hundred or so meters to Lothian Road. Only when she reached the well-lit intersection with cars waiting at the traffic lights did she finally risk looking around. The street was empty: there were no hulking shapes running toward her. She clutched the stitch in her side, sucking in the air around her. She hadn’t run like that since high school, which was twelve years ago, and without homicidal maniacs on her tail.

Melody could see the light of an available cab coming toward her, and ran into the road to wave it down. Although she was only a minute’s walk from her flat she’d already made up her mind. She wasn’t going home.

“The nearest police station, as quick as you can.” She slammed the door, then stared out the back window until the mouth of the road was no longer in sight.